


Home, Boys, Home

by fiendlikequeen



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Scientists, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, but no actual funny business, rated t just for the implied content, very innocent otherwise!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/pseuds/fiendlikequeen
Summary: While on a field study in the Arctic, Francis grows a beard. James isn't sure about it.Bingo fill - "Winter comes in force"
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	Home, Boys, Home

**Author's Note:**

> My very first bingo fill! Just a piece of modern AU fluff to warm my heart on this chilly day. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title borrowed from a favourite Irish tune of mine:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zk8Cx6XNuBc&ab_channel=TheDubliners-Topic

“Think you’ll get complaints about that?”

Francis extracts himself from the article he’s busied himself with to see Jamie Ross jerking his chin in Francis’s general vicinity.

“What?”

“The beard,” Jamie says. He yawns and stretches, clearly trying to remove a crick gotten from falling asleep on a transatlantic flight. “Do you think it’ll be well-received?”

Francis deflects, nodding at the similar situation on Jamie’s face, acquired, as Francis’s was, during their field study. “Will yours?”

“Hmm,” says Jamie. He scratches idly at his cheek. “Ann always says it makes me look like a Victorian sea-captain.”

“And that’s…a good thing?”

“She seems to think so,” says Jamie, with an attempt at a roguish wink that is immediately followed by a dreamy, romantic sort of sigh. “Kids hate it, though. Last time I got back they told me I looked like a cactus. Wonder how long it’ll last this time before someone kicks up a fuss.”

Francis chuckles. There is a moment of silence, until Jamie sighs.

“Ah, I’ve missed them,” he remarks. He’s staring at his mobile - a picture of Ann and his children glowing in the darkened cabin. “Hard to believe I used to be desperate to get out of London to freeze my bollocks off in the coldest places I could find. Remember when we spent a year at Halley V? Never wanted to leave. And that winter in Resolute, watching the aurora at minus fifty degrees? Good fun.”

Francis remembers all their expeditions fondly. “Different time,” he says, before he adds: “Though it’s always been your idea, as you’ll recall.”

Jamie laughs. “Next time I try to talk you into a six-week field study in Eureka, remind me of this conversation.”

“Grise Fiord?”

“Right out.”

“Iqaluit?”

“…possibly.”

****

Arrivals at Heathrow is a zoo as usual – luckily, Jamie seems as inexorably drawn to his wife as a magnet is to a pole, and he finds Ann in record time. She is waiting with the youngest of the Ross brood, who gives Jamie’s beard a suspicious sort of tug and then flatly refuses to be kissed.

Jamie, grinning like a lunatic, doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. He kisses Ann – his progeny flailing around in protest of the hideous sight of parents _kissing_ – and slings an arm over his wife.

“Hello, Frank,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Francis’s arm. “How was the” – here she breaks off to fend off Jamie’s attempts at another kiss – “study?”

“Cold. Magnets were involved.”

She smiles. “You’ll have to tell me all about it later. Are you free on Sunday?”

For Ann, always. “Of course.”

“Bring your James, too. Haven’t seen him around,” adds Ann, gesturing at the hustle and bustle around them. “Maybe you should shoot him a text? We can wait until he finds-”

“He’s not coming.” Francis says it more bluntly than he means to. He’s glaring at his boots to avoid meeting either of the Rosses’ gazes. “He’s – er, busy. He says.”

Francis looks up when Ann’s hand lands on his. She gives him a reassuring sort of pat. “I’m sure he’s waiting up for you,” she says. Francis has no doubt that she believes it. “And we can drive you home. Gives us an excuse to catch up.”

****

James is not waiting up, it seems. Francis hauls himself and his suitcase up two flights of stairs to find his flat dark and seemingly empty, save for a sleepy Newfoundland. He ought to be used to this – in past, he used to return from his field studies to a flat devoid even of Neptune, who had vacationed with the Blankys while he was away.

But of course that had been before-

“James?” he calls.

There is no response, though Francis can see that there is a light on in the bedroom. Francis wrestles his way out of his parka, kicks off his boots, and dumps his suitcase by the door, hoping that at the very least the commotion will bring an irritated James out to greet him.

Nothing. Francis steps into the loo to wash his face and hands before dragging the rest of his bags into the bedroom. There he finds James, still awake, propped up in bed.

He is wearing his reading specs, and has a book in hand. He looks adorable. He also looks more than a little harassed.

“Hi,” says Francis.

James looks up at him over the rims of his glasses. “What,” he asks “is on your face?”

Wondering if this is a trick question, Francis lifts his hand to scratch at his whiskers. “It’s a beard.”

James rolls his eyes. “I can see that. Why do you have one?”

“Well, James, perhaps you didn’t know this, but winter comes in force in Nunavut, and-”

“Spare me the sarcasm, Francis. It’s late and I’m tired.” As if to prove his point, James takes off his reading glasses and scrubs at his eyes.

Francis, meanwhile, drops his bags and shrugs his way of his shirt and jeans. He is in his pants and undershirt when he takes a seat next to James and leans in for a kiss. What he receives after over a month overseas is a closed-mouth peck and, when he withdraws, a frown.

Francis lifts his hand to his face, scratching again at his cheek. “You hate it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“So you’re a psychic now? Thought you were a scientist, my mistake.”

“Please, spare me the dramatics. Just tell me you think it’s hideous-”

 _“Don’t_ tell me what I’m thinking.”

“I haven’t seen you in _six weeks_ and you’re going to pick a fight about this?”

“And whose fault is that?”

Francis, who has spent more than twenty-four hours fighting his way through various airports and squashed into assorted uncomfortable contortions on all manner of aircraft, is far too tired for this disagreement.

“Fine,” he says. He anchors his hands on his knees, pushes himself up. “I’m going to go sleep on the sofa because you _clearly_ don’t want me around-”

James’s hand shoots out, grabs for Francis’s. “Francis, wait, I – I’m sorry, I just-”

Francis sits back down. “What?”

James takes his hand back. After a moment of chewing at his lip, he says, very quietly:

“You didn’t call.”

In fact, Francis called six times, seeming always to have caught James at a bad time, and so he stopped. “Connection is shit up there, you know that. And the time difference-”

“It’s five hours, Francis. And you barely emailed.”

“And what would I email you about? You’ve never been particularly interested in my work.”

James acknowledges this with a shrug. “Would’ve been nice to hear from you, though. Know you hadn’t been eaten by a polar bear or something,” he says. When he goes on, he seems unable to meet Francis’s gaze. “Or that you were thinking about me.”

Francis takes his hand and squeezes it tight. “I _did_ think about you,” he says. He kisses James’s hand until the latter sighs, and he feels safe to go on. “Day and night. And I would’ve done it more except I was sharing a cabin with Jamie and I didn’t think he’d appreciate me jerking-”

 _“Francis._ You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to think about you, hm? You drive me up the wall, you know.”

James tries to take his hand back; Francis holds tight to it and eventually James gives up. “I – well, I thought you might’ve…missed me.”

“I did.”

James brightens at once. “You did?”

“Of course I did,” he says. He lifts James’s hand for another kiss, adding: “Sweetheart.”

James’s voice takes on a very different tone now. “Francis,” he murmurs, as Francis turns his hand palm-up to press a kiss there, too. “I missed you, too.”

Francis arches a brow. “You’ve an interesting way of showing it,” he says, unable to resist the quip.

James colours at once. “I – I was angry at you, I thought that you hadn’t – I’m sorry, but-”

Francis reaches out to stroke James’s cheek. After so long in the cold, Francis finds James’s skin almost impossibly warm. “My fault. Should’ve done better. I’m sorry.”

“And mine. Shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“So you’re not angry with me anymore?”

James shakes his head.

“Good. Because I have something for you.”

James perks up at that. “You do?”

“I do,” he says. He bends over to root around in one of his bags. When he straightens up, he hands James a small item, wrapped in packing paper. “For you.”

James seems undeterred by its humble presentation, quickly shucking off the paper to reveal a small sculpture, carved in the shape of a bird.

“It’s a loon. Silna makes them. Asked her to make one for you,” says Francis. He watches, anxiously, as James turns the little soapstone sculpture over and over in his hands. “Do you like it?”

James gives Francis’s hand a squeeze. “I do.” He places the loon on the nightstand and then takes Francis’s jaw in hand so he can give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

Francis recognizes the emotion beginning to smoulder behind James’s gaze. Exhaustion forgotten, he leans forward to kiss James again. This time, James sighs and allows himself to be affectionately mauled.

After a moment, Francis pulls back. “I’m going to go shave. And then maybe we can…make up?”

A smile is tugging at the corner of James’s lips. He gets a fistful of Francis’s undershirt and pulls him close. “Skip the shaving part.”

“But you hate it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” James parrots back. He’s tugged Francis between his legs now, and is slowly stroking up and down Francis’s back. “Makes you look like some sort of grizzled polar explorer.”

Francis can’t resist a smile. “I feel as though I should be offended.”

James has hooked his legs around Francis’s body, his heels digging into Francis’s arse. “Not at all. I happen to find grizzled polar explorers very sexy.”

“You’ve very poor taste, then.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” says James, and with a quiet chortle kisses Francis. After a moment, he pulls back. His gaze is soft and his tone softer yet as goes on. “Welcome home, darling.”

“Thank you,” says Francis. After giving James a kiss of his own, warmer and sweeter even than the last: “I am very glad to be home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me for the cardinal sin of calling JCR "Jamie" in this, but with multiple Jameses, things can get confusing in a hurry.


End file.
